


Espionage

by adelaide_rain



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:57:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelaide_rain/pseuds/adelaide_rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert Fischer sees Arthur and Eames in his hotel and can't shake the feeling that he knows them. Thinking that they may be spying on his business, he plants a camera to see what they're up to. What he gets is a live feed of something far more intimate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Espionage

The piles of papers on Robert’s desk look like a city block. All morning all he has done is move files from one pile to another, his listlessness broken only by phone calls every five minutes from contractors, project managers, press agents.

Usually he has no problems concentrating on work. After his father died two years ago, he put everything into making something for himself, just as Maurice would have wanted. Now his company is the world leader in renewable energy. His next venture is carbon neutral hotels. He's currently staying in the first of what he hopes will be a chain: it is powered by Fischer Ecotricity and a battalion of solar panels on the roof that drink in the Californian sunshine.

With the building of a second hotel underway, he has a hundred things to do but whenever he tries to concentrate on work his focus slides away. He can’t get his mind off the two men that he saw walking through the hotel lobby this morning. One was slim – dark hair, three piece suit; the other beefier, wearing a teal shirt with a paisley pattern. They were both very attractive but it wasn’t that that caught his attention.

Robert recognised them, a nagging familiarity that he can’t place. Yet something stopped him from going to speak to them. A tingle of caution like snow sliding down his back.

After a full day of not being able to concentrate on meetings and discussions, he’s in the bar, nursing a gin and tonic and watching out for the two men while insisting to himself that he’s just there to relax.

It’s after ten when they turn up, both more relaxed than they were in the morning. They take a table near Robert and he makes sure to angle himself behind a latticed panel so that he can see them without their seeing him.

He’s sitting a little too far away from him to hear what they’re saying so instead he concentrates on watching. The broad-shouldered one leans in to the other with a charming smile, saying something that makes the suited man smile; an expression that makes him look younger and carefree. The broad-shouldered one touches a thumb to the other’s cheek before sitting back and turns his smile on the waitress.

When she’s gone, they lean in close again and the suited one strokes his fingers across the other’s neck. They’re too comfortable with one another to be a one-night stand and too at-ease to be having an affair. They must be a couple and Robert’s watching becomes less surveillance and more peeping Tom. It’s creepy and he knows it, but he can’t stop himself. As they drink they become more relaxed, touch each other more. The suited one had started off restrained but now he’s almost possessive, his fingers curling into the other’s hair and tugging. After a brief look around he claims the other’s mouth in a fierce kiss and his other hand disappears under the table.

Robert draws in a shaky breath and a thought flashes through his mind – he could join them. God, it’s been too long. But the flicker of warning returns and he bites his lip, frowning at his warring impulses. As Robert watches, they break the kiss and slam a tip onto the table before leaving hurriedly.

For a long moment Robert stares at their table and as the waitress goes to collect the money he calls her over. When she sees who he is, her eyes widen and a terrified smile curves her lips.

“M-Mr Fischer,” she stutters. “How can I help you? Another drink?”

“Those men,” he says, nodding at the newly-vacated table. “Which room are they in?”

She glances at the table, then back to him, looking uncomfortable. “I’m – I’m not sure I can tell you.”

Robert straightens up in his chair and leans forward slightly. “I know it’s not usually allowed but since I own the hotel…”

She bites her lip. “Let me get my manager. She’ll be able to tell you.”

He nods and lets her go, glad of the opportunity to compose himself. Drumming his fingers on the table he wonders what he’s doing. Is his libido doing the thinking here? Yes, they are attractive, but he can’t forget the way that they put him on edge. There’s been some industrial espionage haunting his company lately – green energy is surprisingly cutthroat. One of his security officers had shown him some headshots of known saboteurs – could they be involved in that?

The bar manager comes to him with a print-out of their room details. Arthur Swanson and Charles Eames - the names don’t ring any bells and the copy of the suited one’s – Arthur’s – passport confirms his name. Robert pockets the paper and thanks the manager before heading over to the elevator. His fingers hover over the button for floor 10 – where the men are staying – but then hit the button for the top floor, where his suite is.

He’s being ridiculous. He’ll get one of his people to run Eames and Arthur through the system, check if they’re anyone he needs concern himself with. If not…

Robert shakes his head and heads to his room. He needs a cold shower.  
==  
The names and images from the lobby security cameras are run through the system overnight and come back clean. At breakfast Robert watches them from a safe distance as he pretends to read the news on his phone.

Despite the reassurances of his staff, Robert still can’t shake the feeling of wariness; nor can he stop his eyes roving over Eames’s tattooed arms or the clean lines of Arthur’s figure in those tailored pants and waistcoat.

He watches them leave the hotel then heads up to his room, a plan settling into place. He’s being paranoid, yes, but as a very rich man he _should_ be.

The summer Robert graduated from college and joined the family company, Maurice made him attend a weekend session on checking for bugs and other subterfuge. The teacher was over-excited and ex-military; he was more interested in showing them the different ways he used to arrange surveillance and telling stories that should probably have remained top-secret. The only thing Robert took away from that weekend was ten different ways to bug a hotel room. He never thought it would actually come in useful.

He has a spy camera couriered to him and gets the hotel manager to give him a key to their room. There’s a fussy wooden panel covering the radiator under the window, and the camera is almost invisible when he plants it between the carved shapes.

Since the camera is wireless and has a range of ten metres, Robert takes the room directly above theirs. Setting his laptop on the desk, he connects it to the camera. The video feed flickers into life, giving a wide view of the whole room. After flicking through the manual, he sets it up to record everything the camera sees and heads out to work, hoping to be more productive than the day before.  
==  
It turns out that Robert can’t concentrate on a damn thing – his thoughts always drift back to his camera and what it might be recording.

Finally the meetings end and Robert heads back up to his room, taking the stairs two at a time because if he ended up in an elevator with Arthur and Eames he’s certain he would give himself away somehow. As he walks down the corridor towards the room with the laptop, he looks around furtively. He’s just trying to protect his company, he tells himself. He just wants to be sure that the reason these men make him uncomfortable is nothing to do with espionage. That’s all.

The laptop is still open on the dresser. Disappointingly neither man is in the room and a skip through the day’s footage reveals nothing other than a cleaner earlier in the day.

Robert turns on the television and orders room service but his eyes keep skipping to the laptop as he eats.

It’s over an hour before the men return. The speed with which Robert scrambles to get his laptop is embarrassing. He expands the video feed to full screen and turns up the volume. The suited one – Arthur – has a silver briefcase which he slides under the desk, then he turns and says something that the speaker doesn’t pick up but makes Eames laugh. Then Eames reaches to grab Arthur’s tie, pulling him over. Arthur raises an eyebrow and slides the tie out of Eames’s grip, then pushes him to the bed.

Robert stares at his laptop, feeling his heartbeat in his throat. All the while he’d been placing the camera he’d convinced himself that this was for work – that this was to make sure that these men weren’t trying to steal any of his company’s secrets. But watching Arthur crawl up the bed to straddle Eames, an illicit thrill sparks through Robert. He knows he should turn it off – they’re not going to discuss espionage while they fuck – but he doesn’t. Settling back against the pillows, he watches.

“I don’t appreciate you manhandling my clothes, Eames,” Arthur says.

The camera angle shows both of them in profile and Robert sees Eames grinning up at Arthur.

“I know, darling,” he says. “But I do love to provoke you.”

Arthur’s eyebrow rises and he slides his tie from its knot. “Is that so.” He reaches for the hem of Eames’s shirt – a horrible orange nylon thing – and whips it off over his head.

Robert’s lips part at the sight. Eames is covered with tattoos and his torso is solid muscle. Arthur runs his hands up Eames’s sides and Robert sighs, frustrated, wishing it was him touching, being touched.

Arthur’s fingers wrap around Eames’s wrists and pull them up to the wooden headboard. He secures them in place with his own tie, saying, “The only person that gets to manhandle my clothes is me.”

“As long as you manhandle me as well,” Eames says, and Arthur grabs his jaw and kisses him, hard, drawing a muffled gasp from Eames.

Robert’s hand gravitates towards his trousers but he presses them back to the bed. With a pang of guilt he thinks that he shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t. He should shut the lid of his laptop and pretend that he didn’t see any of it.

But then Arthur’s fingers curl into Eames’s hair and he yanks his head back so that he can bite at his neck and all Robert can do is stare. He makes his way down to Eames’s nipple, kissing and sucking and biting, making Eames swear, his hips bucking into Arthur’s. Arthur smiles up at him, pausing for only a moment before moving over to the other nipple and giving it the same treatment while continuing to tease the first nipple with his fingers. Eames strains against the tie that binds his wrists but the knots hold – Arthur’s obviously an expert - and breathes heavily as his eyes fall shut. His mouth is open - even with the fairly low-quality camera Robert can see how how kiss-bruised Eames’s full lips are.

Robert’s hands curl into fists and he glances down at his erection straining against his zipper. There’s another moment of conflict, then a cry from his laptop makes him look up.

Arthur’s unzipped Eames’s slacks and has taken his hard cock in hand and is stroking him gently. Robert squints at the picture, wishing it was better quality.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Arthur says, standing suddenly and making Eames moan at the loss of contact. Arthur’s back is to the camera. It blocks the view and Robert curses. “I am going to fuck your mouth. And if you make it good enough, I’m going to suck you off after I come. How does that sound?”

“Fucking wonderful, Arthur,” Eames says, his voice rough.

Arthur rearranges the pillows to support Eames’s head better, then moves away to begin an achingly slow striptease. He blocks Robert’s view of Eames, though occasionally Arthur’s movements reveal Eames for a moment and show that he's staring at Arthur like a devotee, mouth open and eyes following his every move. Eames’s dick arches from his trousers and Robert finds himself fixated on it – how it curves slightly, how hot and silky it would feel under his fingers, how it would smell and taste.

Swearing, Robert unzips his fly and takes his dick in his hand as guilt and arousal dance the flamenco in his stomach. The tip is already wet, precome glistening in the light of the lamp and the illicit images on his monitor. He wipes his thumb over it and he shivers. Starting off with a slow stroke, he turns his attention back to the video.

Arthur moves to drop his cufflinks onto the dresser, shrugs out of his waistcoat. His shirt is next, and he folds it so carefully before putting it onto the chair that Robert is sure he’s teasing Eames.

When Arthur returns to his previous position, the camera refocuses, revealing the pale skin of his back, marred by several scars that Robert couldn’t even begin to guess the origins of.

Next is the belt, sliding from the loops with a zipping sound. Wrapping each end around his hands, Arthur pulls it taut between them. Eames’s eyes widen and he whispers _Arthur_.

“Not today,” Arthur says, and lets the belt fall to the floor. Eames gives a disappointed whine and Arthur chuckles, leaving Robert with only the vaguest idea what that was about; the hints thrill him.

The trousers and briefs come off with swift efficiency and Robert is treated to the sight of a pert, pale ass that he wants to grope. It would be nice and firm with just the right amount of give, he thinks, and the thought of having it under his hands makes him groan and jerk himself faster. The precome isn’t enough; he needs more slickness. There’s some hand cream in his briefcase and Robert darts to the desk to grab it.

A low moan from his laptop speakers makes him hurry back to see Arthur with one knee on the bed and slinging the other over Eames’s chest. Eames is still staring up at him; then his eyes dart to Arthur’s dick, only inches away, and he wets his lips in preparation.

“I want to taste you, Arthur.”

Pressing one hand to the wall, fingers splayed, Arthur gets the balance he needs and moves further up the bed so that when Eames’s tongue darts out, it makes contact with the slick head and Robert hears Arthur suck in a breath.

Squirting the hand cream into his palm makes Robert’s strokes much smoother and he stares, open-mouthed, at his screen. The thought that this is happening in the room below makes him groan and he quickens his pace.

While the camera has a good angle of the room, Robert can’t see what’s happening as well as he’d like and bitterly wishes that he’d placed more than one camera. When Arthur moves forward again, his ass – lovely though it is – blocks most of the view of what’s actually happening. The slick sounds of Eames’s mouth along with the hitches in Arthur's breathing are Robert’s only indication of what’s happening.

When Arthur’s hips start to slowly rock forward, each thrust deeper than the last, Robert’s hand moves to the base of his cock; he needs to hold steady for a moment or he’s not going to last. His other hand comes up, gently massaging his balls to keep the pleasure tingling without being in danger of coming prematurely.

It’s not often that Robert drags out a masturbation session like this. In all things he prefers efficiency. But this is different. He’s never done anything like this – nor anything like the performance on his screen. He wants to savour every moment, wants to hold on as long as possible – to see Arthur and Eames come before he lets himself.

“Such a good boy,” Arthur’s murmuring, hips jerking forward – still shallow but faster now. “Putting that beautiful mouth to such good use. Do you know how gorgeous you look? Take more,” he says, and slows for a moment, pushing forward. “That’s it,” he says. “Swallow me, all the way, c’mon, I know you can.”

Robert has to close his eyes for a moment, listens to Arthur as he talks, voice gentle, words filthy. He starts to wank again, keeping his strokes slow while the other hand continues to play with his balls, the two points of contact burning any lingering doubts from his mind.

Other than the noises from the speakers of the laptop, the only other sounds are Robert’s own breathing, increasing in speed and volume. He opens his eyes to see Arthur with both hands on the wall now, needing the extra support as his hips snap forward, deep and fast.

Eames must be taking the whole length of Arthur’s cock now and Robert’s embarrassed to hear himself moan at the thought of it. He’s got good imagination but Robert would pay very good money to have a better view of Eames’s lips stretched around Arthur’s cock as he thrusts into his mouth to the hilt, again and again.

An image of Eames going down on him pinwheels through Robert’s mind - it must feel so good, he thinks as his hand tightens around his dick. And from the broken sounds Arthur is making, it does. Arthur can’t last much longer; Robert doesn’t think he can either.

As Arthur gives out a strangled cry, his hands curling into fists where they rest against the wall, Robert gasps and bites down hard on his bottom lip, thinking _not yet, not yet, hold on_.

Hips moving back a little, Arthur rests his head against the wall and Robert can hear both of them gasping for breath – he is too.

“Please, Arthur,” Eames begs, breathless and hoarse. “Please.”

“You’ve been a good boy,” Arthur rasps, his back glistening with sweat as he moves, and Robert wants to lick it, can almost taste the saltiness. “You deserve a reward.” He smiles and shimmies elegantly down Eames’s body until he’s resting beside his hips. With one fist firmly around the base of Eames’s cock, Arthur starts to suck him off. There’s no teasing or preamble and the best thing is that Robert has a clear view.

Eames’s cock is chubby, nice and thick, and Robert’s a little jealous of Arthur as he takes it into his mouth. Since Eames is still bound by his wrists there’s not much he can do to control what Arthur’s doing, and Arthur’s spare hand presses firmly onto Eames’s hips to stop him from thrusting up. Arthur licks and sucks, his lips sliding down until they meet his fingers.

It’s just – so fucking beautiful. Robert wants so much that he’s not even sure _what_ he wants – he just wants something other than his hand. Something other than a one night stand while he’s pretending to be someone else. Something like Eames and Arthur have.

Right now, though, he will take what he can get. He watches Arthur pull away when Eames’s cries reach a crescendo. Arthur jerks his hand three times and then Eames is coming with a cry that Robert can hear through the floor as well as his speakers, the come shooting over his belly, his chest.

At seeing that Robert is completely unable to hold back his own orgasm and he comes, hard, spunk spurting over his shirt, his tie. But he doesn’t care, can’t care, not with the waves of his climax crashing over him, drowning him.

He collapses back on the bed, white noise rushing in his ears as he shakes and shivers.

When he becomes more aware of things he can hear Arthur murmuring softly. Cracking open an eye he sees that he is carefully undoing the knot that bound Eames’s wrists to the bed, whispering gentle words to him, telling him how good he was. Eames is smiling; he looks almost drunk as he melts into Arthur’s arms. Arthur kisses his forehead, strokes his back as Eames leans into him like a cat – he looks so content Robert imagines him purring.

This – this is too much. Robert can rationalise watching them fuck, he can tell himself that it’s not what he intended the camera to pick up but since it did why not enjoy the show? But now he is watching their tender afterglow and he can’t stand it. It’s too intimate - too much like prying – but more than that it hurts Robert to see a couple so loving.

He shuts the lid of the laptop with a snap and lies back with his hand over his eyes. Despite the incredible orgasm, dissatisfaction snakes through him and he thinks, _I want that_. He buries himself in work, he knows he does. None of his relationships, from friendships to family to lovers, have ever been easy and have too often ended in pain and heartache, and now he avoids letting anyone get close to him. But to have something like these two men have-

It would be worth it. It would be worth anything.

Rousing himself, Robert sighs and staggers to the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind him. He starts to run a bath and pours in some shower gel as makeshift bubble bath.

As he watches the bubbles rise up like a mountain, he decides that he will try. The next person that interests him, he won’t push away, won’t hide from. He’ll let them in.

~~~

From where they’re sitting at in the breakfast room, Eames can see Robert Fischer fiddling with his phone, looking flustered. Every so often he’ll look over at them and blush; it’s all Eames can do not to grin at him.

Arthur notices, of course, and hits Eames’s hand lightly. “Leave him alone,” he says and takes a sip of coffee.

“I was just wondering if he enjoyed the show.”

“I’m sure he did,” Arthur says and gives Eames a flash of wicked grin. “I certainly enjoyed performing for him.”

“Me too, Arthur. Always,” Eames says, taking Arthur’s hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

“I still wonder what he was looking for,” Arthur says, frowning. “If he knows-“

“He doesn’t,” Eames says, looking back at Fischer. “If he did then he wouldn’t have put a camera in our rooms, he’d have taken a hit out on us. He probably just had a feeling that he knew us. Like he’d met us in a dream.” Eames says it lightly, meaning to amuse, but Arthur only frowns at him. “Relax, Arthur. We’re leaving today. We’ll go off-grid. Get people to watch Fischer for us, just in case. Everything will be fine.”

“You always say that.”

“And it always is.”

The next time Eames glances over at Fischer, he sees a handsome man in a well-tailored suit smiling at him and pointing at the seat beside him. Fischer frowns up at him, but after a moment it melts into a smile and he nods. As Eames watches, the two men talk, leaning in to one another, touching one another’s arms as they speak. That they like each other is as obvious as if there was a neon sign above their heads.

When Eames had worked for Browning so that he could perfect his forgery, he had seen how Fischer’s relationship with his father had made him so eager for affection yet so afraid of being hurt. It manifested as coolness but it seems like he’s starting to thaw.

“What?” Arthur asks, following Eames’s line of sight and frowning at Fischer and the man as they smile at one another. “What is it?”

“Nothing, love,” Eames says, squeezing Arthur’s hand. “I just like happy endings. Or happy beginnings, anyway.”

Arthur squints at Fischer then looks at Eames, obviously lost. “Let’s go,” he says, standing and picking up the Samsonite case with the PASIV in it. “Even if he’s as harmless as you seem to think, I’d prefer to get out of here.”

“Whatever you say.” Eames knows better than to argue with Arthur, though it’s obvious that Fischer is no longer paying them any attention. Besides, the sooner they move, the sooner they get to one of their apartments and they can fall into bed. Fucking in hotel rooms is never as good as being at home together. “So where shall we go?”

“How about Paris?”

“How romantic!” Eames says, grinning at him. “Let’s go, darling. Let me sweep you off your feet.”

A small smile plays at Arthur’s lips. “If you say so. Darling. Come on.”

As they head out of the breakfast room, Eames takes a last look over his shoulder at Fischer, who is laughing at something his new friend has said. Eames smiles. He takes Arthur’s hand as they walk into the lobby. Arthur raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t pull away.

If his and Arthur’s little show has helped Robert to get past some of his issues, then Eames wishes him all the best. Everyone deserves a happy ending.


End file.
